


I'll Protect You

by stilinski_wolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek is just a marshmallow underneath it all, Descriptions of Violence can get pretty graphic so I added that warning just incase, Falling In Love, Hale Crime Family, Happy Ending, M/M, Mention of Rape/Non Con (Neither Stiles or Derek rape/are raped), Mobster!AU, cop!Stiles, criminal!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinski_wolf/pseuds/stilinski_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is the criminal. Stiles is the cop. </p><p>But when Stiles arrests Derek and gives a deal in return for his cooperation on taking down Derek's family's criminal organization, they both start to learn that maybe they both aren't that different from each other, and start to fall in love with each other even though all outside forces would kill them for doing so. </p><p>But Stiles is determined to protect Derek, at all costs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Protect You

Derek Hale was sitting across from him, every inch of his face tight, controlled, unemotional. He was dressed in a finely pressed black tee, dark jeans, and black boots. Reyes, who had brought him from holding to the interrogation room, had tossed his black leather jacket haphazardly on the table between them, and Hale, being handcuffed behind his back, couldn’t touch it. Hale kept eyeing the jacket with narrowed eyes, as if annoyed that his precious jacket was touching such cheap, rusted metal.

Stiles continued to shuffle around some papers to look as if he was busy, as if he had important things to do but instead he was stuck here with Derek Hale, as if it was merely an annoyance. Hale didn’t look impressed.

Stiles sighed, closed the file, turned his chair slantways in order to lift his leg onto the table, as if he was bored with the proceedings. Hale eyed Stiles’ black converse in distaste.

“A New York detective wearing converse?” Hale finally spoke, eyebrow arched.

Stiles snorted. “There’s no dress code other than showing up to work with clothes on.”

It was Hale’s turn to snort as he rolled his eyes and looked toward the two-way mirror situated to his left, and Stiles’ right.

Stiles rested his finger tips on top of the case file, started to spin it around, around, around. Hale eyed the movement with distaste as well.

“So, here’s the thing, Hale,” Stiles said, causing Hale to look up from Stiles’ preoccupied hand and to his face. Stiles smirked slightly as Hale glared at him. “We’ve got enough to convict you. We don’t just have this one B&E on you. We’ve got too many petty thefts to count, DUI’s, three arrests for aggravated assault, several more B&E’s….” Stiles drifted off, head tilting this way and that as he lifted off Hale’s record. Hale just continued to stare blankly at him, looking bored. Stiles sighed, “And although we can’t prove it quite yet, at least two counts of murder in the first degree we’re suspicious of,” Stiles concluded, and that got Hale’s attention. He looked up at Stiles, eyes widening slightly, before Stiles saw his whole frame tense up, his lips purse, his eyes harden. Oh yeah, Derek was guilty, Stiles was positive of it. “That’ll give you two life sentences when we prove it if we have our way. A solid forty at the very least if we don’t get our way…you’re life will practically be over by the time you get out,” Stiles tsk tsk tsk’d, taking his leg down from the table and straightening, turning to face Hale directly, who hadn’t moved a centimeter since Stiles had brought up murder. “But…I’ve been tailing you for a long time now, Hale,” Stiles said, and watched the surprise flow through Hale’s eyes before he controlled himself. “And sometimes I don’t know whether you’re just trying to survive in your world or you really are a psychopathic bastard.”

Derek lowered his eyes to the table, the only movement he gave, and the only indication that he’d heard Stiles at all.

“So, this is how it’s going to be. We have enough on you right now to put you away for up to a year, probably a few months shy of that. In that time I’d be free to gather all the evidence I can get on those murders, and then I could put you away for life,” Stiles leaned forward, shoving the file aside as he laced his fingers together on the table, getting as close as he could to Hale, who hadn’t looked up from the table. “Or…” Stiles started, tilting his head to the side, eyeing Hale, who slowly raised his eyes from the table to meet Stiles’. Stiles ignored the way he heart sped up slightly.

“Or,” Stiles started again, clearing his throat. “We can make a deal.”

Hale perked up at that, and for Hale that meant lifting his head up straight and giving Stiles’ his undivided attention and leaning forward slightly in his seat.

“You’re Derek Hale, we all know who your parents were,” Stiles said, watched as Hale flinched at the mention of them. “We all know who your uncle is,” and Hale gave a sneer at that, looking toward the two way mirror again. “Give us your uncle, give us Daehler, Argent, Deucalion, all of Peter Hale’s contacts, his right hand man, his assassins, every single person you can that will destroy the Hale empire, as well as the Argents.”

Hale had gone pale as Stiles had talked, his composure had broken, and his large frame was shaking with apparent fear.

“Help us take down the biggest crime families in New York City, and we won’t put you in jail. Do this for the NYPD and you will be able to live your life, and live it free from your uncle’s reign.”

“That’s…” Hale spoke for the first time, voice coming out shaky, and Stiles saw him swallow deeply. “That’s impossible. You-you can’t expect me to-”

“We do,” Stiles cut him off, leaning back in his seat, never taking his eyes off Hale. “I already have a lot of evidence for those murders, I just need a few more days and I will get it all. You can’t wiggle out of this tight spot, Hale. Unless you help us.”

“Help you?” Hale said, eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” Stiles said. “You help us, we help you.”

“Why? Why me?”

Stiles just shrugged. “Despite what I said earlier, you don’t actually seem like a psychopath. Your uncle does. In fact everyone in the Hale and Argent families and everyone associated or working with them does. Except you.”

Hale swallowed. “What if I get made? My uncle will know of my arrest right now-”

“No,” Stiles shook his head. “I contact the Chief of Police, had him pull a few strings to keep your arrest quiet. No one knows I arrested you. And no one will know if we get you out of here by morning. But I can’t do that if you don’t agree to the deal.”

“This is bullshit,” Hale laughed, actually laughed, although the laugh was devoid of humor, it’s sound dry and slightly hysterical. “No way will this work. I’ll get made eventually, Peter will kill me, and it will have all been for nothing, and it would have been like me going to jail for life anyway. Why the fuck do you think I would take your deal?”

“Because it will work,” Stiles said, keeping his stare steady, unwavering. Hale was shaking his head, laughing quietly to himself. “It will,” Stiles stressed. “We’ll protect you, no matter what.”

“You?” Hale stopped laughing, sounding incredulous as he looked up at Stiles. “How the fuck will you protect me?”

“I’m good at what I do, Mr. Hale. Trust me, I’ll keep you safe.”

“Fuck you,” Hale scoffed.

“No thanks, I’m good,” Stiles said, and cursed himself for saying something so unprofessional as Hale looked at Stiles, eyes widening. Stiles barreled forward at that, clearing his throat. “Look, we’re looking at taking down an criminal organization here. From the inside, which is the only way it can be done. We need you to be our inside man.”

Hale slumped back in his chair, disbelief clear on his face. “Why the fuck should I trust you?”

“Because you’re our way of taking out the disease. You? You’re just a symptom. We get rid of you, it will improve the situation somewhat, but barely. Probably barely a hiccup will roll through your uncle’s organization. No, we don’t want to stop the symptom,” Stiles said, leaning forward, his posture almost excited, ravenous, “we want to stop the disease.”

Hale just stared at Stiles in horrified wonder.

“And to do that, we need you. Without you, we won’t stop the disease. So we will,” Stiles paused, looked Hale in the eyes, “I will do anything to protect you, to keep you safe until we get the son of a bitch. You do that, you get us your uncle, everyone else, you’ll walk free. You’ll be able to start your life over, from scratch. If you take this deal.”

Stiles could see Hale warring with himself, his mind spinning, eyes wide, looking from Stiles to the mirror and back again.

“You’re serious?”

“The NYPD doesn’t joke around, Mr. Hale,” Stiles said.

“What…” Derek cleared his throat, shifted in his chair. “What would I have to do?”

Stiles felt a smile begin to creep onto his face, tried to reign himself in. “Well, first, you’d go back to your apartment as if everything is normal, as if you were out getting wasted, out with friends, fucking a prostitute, whatever it is you mobster’s do in your down time, although we give you a burner cell so I can contact you, at any time, and you keep it where no one can find it, ever. It will be our way to contact you and if we don’t have that, I’ll have to go and find you in person, and we don’t want that.

Now, this isn’t going to be easy, this will take months, maybe even a year, or more until we get the son of a bitch, so you and I will meet weekly, and at first you’ll just be telling me everything you know, all your contacts, all of your uncle’s, Daehler’s, Argents, and so on, everyone you know of, and you’ll tell me all you know of the organization, how things are run, how the Argent’s network is run, anything you know, you’ll tell me. Once I have all that from you, we’ll start working out a plan on how to take them down, how you’re going to get on the inside and give us your uncle’s bank records and secret bank accounts as well, evidence of the murders he’s done, all his shady deals, weapons deals, drug deals, evidence of every single fucking thing you can get your hands on, and you give it to me. All of it,” Stile stressed, eyes having never left Hale’s hazel green ones, not once.

“And bear in mind,” Stiles finished, his tone taking on a hard edge as he stood up, leaned forward, got into Hale’s space. Hale didn’t back down, although Stiles saw him swallow heavily once more. “If you turn on me, betray me, betray the NYPD, if you chicken out, if you fuck us over, you try to skip town, we’ll be there, we will be on your ass 24/7, there won’t be a time where one of us won’t be watching you, and we’ll catch you, and this wonderful deal we have going here will no longer be on the table, we will put you away for murder, and you’ll never see past the gates of prison for the rest of your miserable fucking life. Am I understood?”

Hale’s eyes held an intensity Stiles hadn’t known he was capable of as he stared at Stiles, as he leaned forward and made it so there was only an inch, maybe two, between them, and Stiles felt Hale’s breath wash over his lips as he said, “understood.”

They stared each other down for a good ten, fifteen seconds before Stiles pulled back, sat down in his chair again, using every ounce of control he had to not let his hands shake, to make his heartbeat slow down. Felt weird, but Stiles was determined to ignore the weird feeling.

“Good,” Stiles breathed out, clearing his throat. “So, do we have a deal?”

Hale took a long moment to stare at Stiles, and then he nodded, “we have a deal.”

Stiles grinned, teeth showing as he sarcastically held out a hand and asked, “shake on it?”

Hale gave him a blank stare, annoyance clear on his face. Stiles bit his lip, felt his heart - which had been slowly calming down - speed up again when Hale directed his stare to his lips. “Right, forgot, handcuffs. Well, next time we meet we can shake on it, how does that sound?”

“I’m jumping for joy on the inside, where it truly counts,” Derek deadpanned, and Stiles snorted, then stood up.

“Officer Dunbar will come and release you, give you the cellphone, contact information, etcetera etcetera. And I will see you next Thursday, Mr. Hale.”

“I’m counting down the days already,” Hale said, voice falsely excited, and Stiles stamped down on the grin threatening to break onto his face as he left the interrogation room.

Finally, after three years of trying to take down the Hale crime family, he had his chance to take them down.

It just all heavily relied on Derek’s cover not getting blown and then being brutally murdered by his psychopathic uncle.

Easy peasy.

~*~

For the next two months, every Thursday, Stiles would meet Hale outside an abandoned building, in his car to make sure no one could follow them and listen in. It started out as professional as Stiles had expected it to be. There was no reason why it wouldn’t. For two months, Hale met with Stiles, gave him everything he could. Since Stiles didn’t want to stay out there forever and draw anyone’s suspicion - because you never knew - they only met for a half hour in the car, and so Hale couldn’t give everything he knew at once. By the end of the second month, Hale had told Stiles everything he knew.

Stiles would go back to the station, back to his apartment, and look at the board, look at everything he had which he hadn’t before, all thanks to Hale.

Thinking of how he would barely have anything if weren’t for Hale, at their first meeting of the third month, after Hale had given him little bits and pieces of what he’d heard his uncle talking about, little things Hale had seen that had seemed highly suspicious, Stiles blurted out, “does any of this feel good?”

Hale had startled, as he had been turning to get out of the car and to his own, he’d turned to look at Stiles, shutting the door. He’d looked confused.

“I-I mean,” Stiles stumbled over his words, shifting in his seat, hands clenching tighter on the wheel. “Does any of this feel less and less like you’re being forced to do it and more like it feels right?”

Hale hadn’t given much of himself over to Stiles in these little meetings, and Stiles hadn’t either, and they shouldn’t. It was the job, and Stiles was the person standing between jail and freedom for Hale. That’s all it should be. But Stiles felt like he had seen…something more than just a criminal in who Hale was, in each meeting. The more Stiles knew Hale, knew of him, the more he wanted to get to know him. It was freaking Stiles the fuck out, to say the least. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. Something about Hale just seemed…good, not bad.

The silence in the car between them was stifling, but Stiles only looked over at Hale, waiting for an answer.

“No,” Hale said, lips tight, posture tense, and then he was opening the door, slamming it closed, and heading for his own car.

Stiles sighed, let his head thud against his head rest, and closed his eyes.

~*~

One month later, Hale gave Stiles a copy of Peter Hale’s financial records - the ones that were on the books. But even those were shady. Stiles gave Hale a “thank you” at the end of their half-hour meeting.

Hale nodded, but didn’t move to get out of the car. Once Stiles put the sheets of paper in his case file - the biggest piece of evidence Stiles had gotten in three years - he looked over at Hale, and this time he was the one confused.

“Yeah?” Stiles prompted, just like that. As if they were friends. Stiles made himself dispel that moronic thought.

Hale hesitated for a few more moments, looking uncertain before he said, “remember last month when you asked me if I was doing this less because I was being forced to and more because it was right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles responded, heart starting to pound.

Hale looked into Stiles’ eyes from the passenger seat, something almost…almost kind in his eyes. Stiles swallowed past a lump in his throat.

“A couple days ago I waked in on my uncle…” Hale swallowed, looked away out the windshield into the night, looking disgusted with something.

Stiles said nothing, only waited.

“I saw him…forcing himself on…on a good friend of mine,” Hale said, voice pained, rough, unsteady. “He…he was raping him.”

Stiles had to force bile from crawling up his throat, hands tightening on the staring wheel.

“I got him off him, but the damage was already done…and had been done for years, apparently, and I never knew. I never…” Hale choked on air, seemed to be struggling to not burst into tears, and Stiles’ breathing was labored. “And all I could think about after was how, if I’d never been arrested by you and forced to get closer to my uncle, I would have never known, I would have never found out. My friend, he-” Hale let out a shaky breath, tried to steady himself before continuing, “I saw how much pain he was in, the tears streaming down his face, but also how resigned he was to what was happening to him and I tried…I told him he had to tell the police, or someone, anyone, that he was being raped, and he just…he said ‘it’s not rape. I wanted it,’ over and over again, no matter what I said. My uncle brainwashed him. And I never fucking knew about it,” Hale said, voice harsh and filled with anger.

Stiles finally let himself give in and look over at Hale, and he was shocked at the tears he saw running down Hale’s face.

“Derek,” Stiles said, the lump in throat making it difficult to speak, his tone pleading, for what, he wasn’t sure. And then Ha-Derek looked over at Stiles at his name being said.

“So I’m…I’m doing this because it’s right. I don’t care if I die, in the end. I have to bring him down.”

“I will protect you, Derek,” Stiles said.

Derek wiped at his eyes, at his cheeks, running his hand over his nose which had become slightly snotty from crying. Derek shook his head. “You can’t protect me, Stiles.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles said, ignoring the way his heart jumped at Derek calling him Stiles. He had only called Stiles ‘Detective Stilinski’ thus far, and even then that was few and far between.

“Nothing,” Derek shook his head, and then opened the door. “I’ll see you next week.”

And then he was gone, and Stiles was left reeling.

~*~

The next week, Derek had messages exchanged between Peter and Gerard Argent, the patriarchy of the Argent crime family, and they were extremely incriminating.

At the end of their meeting, Derek lingered again.

Stiles hated how excited he felt because of that. It was his job. Derek was a criminal. He needed him to take down the two major crime families in New York City. That was it. That was all their ‘relationship’ could be. What the fuck was going on with him?

“I have this…there’s this restaurant I love to go to, called Tony’s Pizza,” Derek murmured. “It seems generic but I swear it has the best pizza in the world,” Derek said, and Stiles furrowed his brows in confusion. Derek shrugged. “You should check it out sometime. I’ll text you the address.”

“Okay?” Stiles asked more than said, drawing out the word.

“Maybe I’ll see you there in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep, when you aren’t wearing your badge, Detective,” Derek said, and then he smiled - smiled - at Stiles and then left the car. 

The next night at 2AM, Stiles parked his car around the corner from Tony’s Pizza, and then went in to the place, which was apparently open 24/7. Only in New York. Fuck, he loved his city.

Stiles ordered two slices of pepperoni and then sat at a corner booth, and began eating the slices - and Derek was right, they were heavenly - but Derek didn’t show up. It wasn’t like he could know when Stiles was going to be there, of course. It had been dangerous enough texting him an address on the burner phone to Stiles. If his dad - if the Chief of Police - had gotten wind of the text before Stiles had had Danny delete it from existence, he didn’t know how he would have explained it. And thankfully Danny, wonderful, amazing Danny - who Stiles might have hooked up with a time or two - hadn’t asked any questions.

Stiles had just finished his soda though when Derek wandered in. Stiles unconsciously straightened up in his seat, and when Derek saw him, Stiles found himself smiling, and felt his heart beat fast once more as Derek smiled back.

Derek got once slice, and came over to sit across from Stiles. They and one other person at the other end of the shop were the only ones there.

Stiles got that he was being monumentally stupid meeting Derek outside of his car that always sat in the shadows outside of an abandoned building, that that one other person in the pizza shop could be a cop, or worse, one of Peter’s men, but Stiles leaned forward in his seat anyway, not back. He didn’t stand up, didn’t act like he didn’t know Derek.

He just sat, his comfy sweatpants and sweatshirt, adidas on his feet this time, and smiled at Derek Hale, son of Talia and Mark Hale, notorious heads of the Hale crime family until they - along with the rest of Derek’s family except for Peter and Derek - burned to death in a fire. Stiles smiled at Derek Hale, who had basically been raised to be a criminal. Being a criminal was who Derek was.

And yet…

“Hey,” Stiles said softly, and Derek smiled back and said hey back.

“So you had the pizza?” Derek asked, and Stiles laughed, nodding.

“You’re right, best pizza in the world.”

“See, told you,” Derek grinned, and bit into his pizza slice that was loaded with vegetables. Stiles wasn’t surprised that he would have a vegetarian pizza slice, with how fit Derek looked to be. His black shirt was straining against his biceps, and Stiles had to look away. But looking at Derek’s face wasn’t all that easy either.

“So, I’m not wearing my badge,” Stiles said, sitting back in seat, spreading his arms wide and grinning. “As requested.”

Derek smirked. “Good.”

“And why was this requested?”

“Because I wanted to talk to Stiles for once, not Detective Stilinski,” Derek said, and Stiles’ smile dropped off his face.

“Derek…” Stiles trailed off, a warning in his tone.

“Don’t take it to mean much, Stiles,” Derek said, dropping his slice onto his plate. “I just mean…we’re in each other’s lives right now, and we will be for months to come, maybe a lot of months, so why can’t we try to be friends?”

“Derek…” Stiles said, heart hammering, telling Stiles to just say fuck it and forget the job. Forget everything and get to know who Derek Hale really is. “You’re a criminal, I’m a cop. We can’t be friends.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve murdered people.”

“I’ve killed people, there’s a difference,” Derek said, and Stiles’ eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Haven’t you killed people, Detective?” Derek said, eyes shrewd.

Stiles swallowed, hands clenching together on the table top. “Derek,” Stiles said, voice low, controlled, as quiet as could be and still be heard. That one person hadn’t left yet. “That was self defense. I was doing my job.”

“And I was doing mine,” Derek said, and Stiles scoffed, incredulous. “Stiles, you don’t get it,” Derek said, voice equally quiet. “If I hadn’t killed those two people - and I did, Stiles, I did - then my uncle would have killed me. No, murdered me. Because, see, my uncle is the one who murders people. My parents, as bad as they were, never made me kill, never wanted me to. My uncle, though, threatened to gut me, to stick the knife in and cut me all the way to my rib cage so my guts would spill out of me if I didn’t kill them. He’ll probably make me kill again, soon, to prove my loyalty to him. That’s what he does when he’s weary of one’s loyalty. See, I refused to kill for him several times. He didn’t take too kindly to my refusals,” Derek murmured, and Stiles’s eyes darted to the one person all the way at other end of the pizza diner, hoping they hadn’t heard. But they were absorbed in their phone, earphones in, so Stiles didn’t worry.

“What did he do?” Stiles said, voice a whisper now. His cop mind was telling Stiles not to believe a word that Derek was saying, to not trust him, to label him a murderer, as he had been in Stiles’ mind before. But his heart…well, his heart was telling him that Derek had admitted, to Stiles’ face, to a cop, that he killed people. He hadn’t denied it. And Stiles’ gut was telling him that Derek was telling the truth. Stiles rarely went against his gut.

“He beat me within an inch of my life,” Derek said casually, taking a bite of his pizza after he said it as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Said that if I didn’t do it then he would gut me, as I described to you, and that I had seen him do it before so he wasn’t fucking around. I did what I had to do to survive. Isn’t that what you’ve done in the line of duty, Detective?” Derek said, slowly looking up and piercing Stiles with his harsh, intense gaze.

Stiles didn’t answer, couldn’t answer.

“My uncle is a powerful man, Stiles,” Derek continued. “I could have killed him years ago, and I would have gladly done it, but then his people would have killed me.”

“So why was I forcing you into helping the NYPD? Why didn’t you come forward yourself at any time?” Stiles wondered, looking Derek in the eyes.

Derek sighed. “Criminals, cops, they’re not much different. Only difference is that cops have the law on their side. I didn’t want to leave one criminal organization for another.”

Stiles was instantly offended, of course, and he got out a, “hey, just wait a minute!” before Derek cut him off.

“But you aren’t like the cops I’ve met, Stiles,” Derek said. “You’re…different. Honest. Real. I…appreciate that,” Derek finished with, setting his slice down again.

Stiles gaped, mind whirling, heart hammering in his chest.

“H-how do you know I’m not dirty like the other cops you’ve met?” Stiles asked, voice weak.

Derek smiled, shrugged. “I feel it in my gut, Stiles. I feel like you’re good.”

And wasn’t that just…Stiles almost laughed at the irony. Here Stiles was, on the side of the law, on the “good” side, on the “right” side, and he had a criminal sitting across from him saying that Stiles was the exception to the rest of the cops, that Stiles was the only actual good one that Derek had ever met.

Stiles didn’t quite know what to say. “I-”

Derek finished off his slice, picked up his plate and empty glass, said, “i’ll see you Thursday, Stiles,” and then left, as he always did. Always the first to leave.

Stiles didn’t get much sleep that night.

~*~

Stiles and Derek’s meetings became less and less professional over time. They still did what they had to do, still went over every piece of information they got, Derek was getting closer and closer to his uncle, even though, as Derek told Stiles, it was killing him to act like he’d had a change of heart and was on his uncle’s side, that he didn’t mind seeing his uncle murder people, or carelessly order his hit man to do it, or watch him uncle rape person after person, whoever tickled his fancy, that he didn’t mind hearing their cries, their pain, their misery.

Derek, at one meeting, asked Stiles point blank if he could kill his uncle, just do it already, and have, as Stiles kept saying, the NYPD protect him.

Stiles had informed Derek that at this point, if that happened, they’d have to call in the FBI to take him into Witness Protection. Derek had quieted down after that.

Aside from all that, though, they…talked. Half hour meetings because hour long meetings, and Stiles was cursing himself for slipping, for getting to attached to Derek Hale.

But he couldn’t help but listen as Derek told him about his sisters, about Cora who had been pretty harsh around the edges, but had a good heart underneath all those edges, and about Laura, who had been cold, calculating, and hard, set to take over the family business when his mother, Talia, died, but had also had her moments of humanity, of kindness. How he’d loved them both dearly. Stiles couldn’t help but listen as he talked about playing baseball as a kid, how it had been his favorite activity, how his mom and dad had come to every game, even with their….busy work schedule.

And Stiles found himself talking about his own life, about his mom, who had died when he was eight, about his dad, who Stiles said was Chief of Police, with which Derek responded with a shout of “Your father is the Chief of Police?” and about how Stiles’ best friend had moved to California a few years ago with his wife, Allison, and how much he missed him.

They talked about everything. And Stiles found himself wanting to kiss Derek more and more the more they talked, the more he got to know him.

Seven months into their meetings, into the operation, Derek talked about his parents.

“My mom was…she was a mix of things,” Derek said quietly. “She was a leader, she was crazy intelligent, she was a murderer, but she was also all about family. She loved all of us, tried to give us everything. She was level-headed where my uncle isn’t. She inspired people to follow her by her cunning mind, by the way she could manipulate people. She didn’t rule the family through fear like Peter, she ruled it through power. But she too had her moments, you know? I get that she was a bad person, I know that,” Derek said. “But still…”

“She was your mother,” Stiles murmured, and Derek nodded in response. Stiles reached over, without thinking, and laid his hand over Derek’s. Derek’s eyes shot over to Stiles’, and Stiles swallowed past the lump in his throat. Derek breathed in sharply, but allowed the contact. He even turned his hand over to lace their fingers together. Stiles’ heart was running wild.

“You’re not a bad person,” Stiles murmured in the space between them, and Derek looked at Stiles for so long, saying nothing, that Stiles had to look away, his cheeks burning red.

“My dad was almost the opposite of her,” Derek said softly, and Stiles’ pulse jumped, stuttered, then started beating even faster when Derek started rubbing his thumb against Stiles’ hand. “But he had a certain coldness to him too, or else I don’t think he could have been with her. He didn’t like murder, but he condoned it. Didn’t mind seeing my mother shoot someone in the head, but he didn’t like doing it. Said it was too messy,” Derek said. “But he was…kind, in a way my mother couldn’t be sometimes. He was more nurturing, more open to giving us a hug, or cuddling with us in bed after we had a nightmare, or getting us ready for school. But then sometimes it was like a switch would go off in his brain, and his eyes would go…dead-like, and he would look at my mother’s hit man as if he wanted to kill him, as if he would if he didn’t like the mess it would create. He once beat a man who showed interest in my mother to a pulp because he dared look at her that way, and then complained about the mess that was made by all that blood that would stain the carpet. My mother was standing there, looking bored, and I was there, Cora and Laura too…” Derek said, and Stiles only had eyes for Derek, his attention on Derek’s face, at how hard it seemed for Derek get the words out.

“I remember my dad turned to me after he wiped his hands of all the blood and said, ‘that’s why I don’t kill, Derek. Too much mess, too much work. Not nearly as exciting as your mother makes it seem. Now go do your homework’ and I just…I was horrified,” Derek said, shaking his head. “Cora looked disturbed by it too, but she was steady, she was still where I was shaking. Laura, who had been a teenager at the time, had looked just as bored as my mother.”

Stiles squeezed Derek hand, encouraging Derek to continue.

“I went to my room and threw up in toilet,” Derek murmured. “I did that a lot. And yet i still loved them for when they were almost normal parents. For when they laughed with me, for when they bought me that movie I wanted for christmas, when they reprimanded me for staying out to late. When they took us out to eat. When they came to all my games.”

Derek had tears running down his face, and Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. He reached up with his free hand and wiped at Derek’s tears.

“I miss them,” Derek said, as more tears fell from his eyes. Stiles wiped away every one. “How messed up is that? They were truly bad, awful people and I still loved them. Does that make me horrible, too?”

“No, Derek, no!” Stiles said, taking Derek’s face in his hands and turning it to face him. Derek looked up at Stiles and Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. “Derek, they were your family. They were good to you. They loved you, in their own twisted, fucked up way. They showed that they loved you, everyday. You are allowed to love them. That doesn’t mean you excuse their actions, that doesn’t mean you agree with them. That doesn’t mean shit, okay? You, Derek Hale, are a good person. You are risking your life, everyday, to help me take down your uncle, to take down the Argents, to take down everyone. You are not horrible. You are good, you have a good heart. I see it, every time I meet with you. You can’t fool me, Derek Hale,” Stiles shook Derek’s head slightly in a plea for him to understand, and Derek laughed shakily, tears finally starting to stop. “You can’t. The jig is up. You’re really just a soft, fluffy puppy underneath all that muscles and black, don’t-fuck-with-me clothes. Okay?”

“A fluffy puppy, huh?” Derek said, laughing again as he looked up at Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles smiled, thumbs stroking Derek’s cheeks, and as Derek’s tears stopped, they looked at each other. Stiles found himself glancing at Derek’s lips, saw Derek do the same.

In the next second, they were kissing across the console, Stiles’ hands in Derek’s hair, Derek’s arms around Stiles’ waist. The kiss was deep, hard, heat simmering between them.

Derek was the first to pull back, but didn’t take his hands off Stiles. They looked at each other, eyes wide, shocked, scared.

“This is a bad idea,” Stiles whispered, fingers still weaved into Derek’s hair.

“Yeah,” Derek agreed.

Silence.

Stiles swayed toward Derek, toward his lips, Derek did the same.

“This could get you killed. Get me killed.”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded.

“If we’re not careful your cover could be blown.”

“Yeah,” Derek repeated.

“We’re being complete morons right now.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, and then he was kissing Stiles again, hands sliding under Stiles’ shirt, making him shiver, teeth nipping at Stiles’ lower lip, tongue sliding into Stiles’ mouth to tangle around his. Smacking, heavy breathing, leather squeaking.

Derek pulled back at one point, hair a mess from Stiles’ fingers, and practically pulled Stiles over the console onto his lap, and then they were grinding against each other, and Stiles whimpered as Derek’s clothed erection brushed over his. Derek moved to his neck, licking, biting, nipping, and Stiles let out a moan of pleasure, grind faster, harder, against Derek.

Stiles couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only grind up and down against Derek and hold on for dear life, moaning into his kisses, shivering at the touch of his hands, getting closer and closer to climax, even with their clothes on.

Stiles was sweating, Derek was sweating, the windows were fogging up, but they didn’t stop kissing, didn’t stop thrusting against each other.

“Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna-Derek, I can’t - I can’t - please-“ Stiles cried out and Derek silenced him with a kiss, hands on his ass, pulling him closer, thrusting up, and then moving one hand to palm him through his pants and giving him a squeeze, and then Stiles came with a shout, tearing his mouth away from Derek’s and arching his back, head thrown back, coming harder than he could remember coming in years. Through his clothes.

Derek wasn’t far behind. He kissed Stiles’ neck, tightened his hold on his ass, thrust a few more times, and then came with a muffled gasp, loud in the car.

Their breathing was heavy, their chests heaving. Stiles felt dizzy, only able to hold onto Derek as he came down from his orgasmic high.

Derek eventually kissed his way up Stiles’ neck to his jaw, then to his lips, giving him small, affectionate kisses that Stiles happily reciprocated.

Eventually, Stiles sighed, heart having slowed down, and ran his fingers through Derek’s hair, not being able to help the adoring look he set upon Derek.

“We’re fucked,” Stiles whispered, pained.

“No, but you’re going to be,” Derek said, and Stiles snorted. Leave it to Derek to get him to smile in the situation they were in.

“Who says it’s gonna be me, huh?” Stiles countered.

“You mean I’ll be fucked?” Derek said, raised an eyebrow. “Well…” Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist, pulled him close, and Stiles felt giddy as he was snuggled close to Derek. “I don’t mind either way.”

Stiles grinned.

And then they kissed, slow, unhurried kisses, unlike before. Stiles let himself live in the moment, sank into Derek’s embrace, matched him kiss for kiss.

Finally, Stiles pulled back on a shaky breath. “But really, Derek. If anyone finds out -“

“That the criminal and the cop are fucking?”

Stiles paused, felt his heart sink, felt the frown come to his face. “Is that all we’re doing, fucking?” Stiles asked, pulling back from Derek a fraction. “We’re risking our careers, our lives, for just some casual fucking?”

“No,” Derek said immediately, pulling Stiles close again. “No,” Derek repeated, eyes steady and intense on Stiles.

“Okay,” Stiles nodded and Derek nodded back. More than fucking. Much more. So much more. After that, Stiles continued what he had been saying. “If anyone finds out, then we’re…it’s all over. We’re done for. We’re dead.” 

“I know,” Derek nodded, face as serious as ever.

“But I’ll try my hardest to protect you, Derek Hale. With everything I’ve got,” Stiles said. “I promise.”

Derek swallowed, eyes searching Stiles face, and when he cupped Stiles’ cheek, Stiles’ eyes slipped closed, leaning into his soft touch. “And I’ll protect you, Stiles. I promise. With my life.”

Stiles opened his eyes, searched Derek’s.

Then they kissed, one, two, three more times. And then Stiles got off Derek’s lap, wincing at the stickiness he felt in his underwear, and then watched as Derek got out, shut the door, and left.

~*~

For the next four months they met up at each other’s apartments whenever they could. They were careful, discreet, Stiles was always watching to see if he was being followed, always parked a couple blocks away from Derek’s apartment, and Derek did the same.

Stiles was slowly losing any control he’d had in any of this. He was falling hard for Derek, and every time they talked, every time Derek made him laugh, every time they made love, every time they cuddled together on Derek’s couch, every time Derek woke Stiles with soft butterfly kisses to his neck, every time Derek scared Stiles by jumping in the shower behind him and going “boo” and then kissing him senseless, every time he made Stiles smile, every time Stiles made Derek laugh, every time Derek told him something about his family, every time Stiles felt the urge to do the same - and did. Every time Stiles was around Derek, he was falling for him, until one day Stiles woke up, saw Derek’s serene face and just knew. Knew he was in love with the man in front of him. Knew he couldn’t imagine life without him. Didn’t want to imagine it without him.

And it scared the shit out of Stiles, because he’d never been in love, with anyone. And never had anyone he’d been remotely close to been a criminal from a powerful crime family who was currently helping him take said crime family down from the inside, risking his life more and more. It was becoming too dangerous.

Peter had made Derek kill someone again - the third person - and Derek had come to Stiles’ apartment with blood on his hands, tears on his face, and he’d run to the toilet to throw up, just like he’d told Stiles he had done as a kid. Stiles had held Derek close, told him it was okay, even as Derek broke and said it wasn’t okay, that he was a murderer, just like Stiles had said, that it was horrible, that he was scum, that he should have been put in jail instead of getting this horrible deal, that Derek would have taken jail over doing that, ever again.

Stiles helped Derek wash the blood off his hands, and Stiles was sure there was some metaphor there that Stiles didn’t care to contemplate.

Derek had laid down, head in Stiles’ lap, and told him who he had killed, what they looked like, their terrified face as Derek had held a gun to their head, how Derek had had to think about being alive, about living to see another day, about how Derek didn’t want to die, about how Derek loved Stiles and couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him. How those thoughts are what got Derek to ultimately pull the trigger, eyes averted, his uncle chuckling in the background as the person fell to the ground, dead.

Stiles had cried with Derek that night. Held him close, didn’t let him go.

Because as selfish as it made Stiles….he didn’t want Derek to leave him either. The thought made him want to throw up, how he was relieved Derek wasn’t dead, that he did what he had to do, that he was with him in Stiles’ bed instead of dead and on his way to the morgue. Stiles weeped a little in relief that night too, that the man he loved was still alive.

Derek had been wavering in his loyalty to Peter, that’s why Peter had made Derek do it. Derek then had to go back to his psychopath of an uncle and practically gravel at his feet, at what a wonderful uncle he was, how much Derek loved him, how grateful he was to be family with him.

It sickened Derek, but cemented Peter’s belief that Derek was still loyal to him.

Stiles and Derek didn’t make love for weeks after it happened. But eventually Derek hardened to it as he had the other two times, and put it in a box in the back of his mind. Stiles muttered how Derek had to see a therapist after this was all over, and Stiles had been half-joking, half-serious, and Derek had been completely serious when he agreed with Stiles.

It was a few days after a year of this, when Stiles was so close he could smell the arrests, every single one of those who were connected to the Hale and Argent families, when it all went to shit.

~*~

His father called him. Stiles was having a late night at the precinct, muttering over every file, paper, photo, every piece of evidence Derek had gotten for him over the past year, when he got the call.

“They know.”

“What.” Stiles’ blood ran cold, and he swore his heart stopped in that instant.

“Peter Hale knows that Derek is the mole, that he’s working with us. He took Derek. He’s going to kill him, Stiles.”

“No.” Stiles said, then repeated it - “no, no, no no no no,” Stiles said over and over, panic seeping through his veins.

“Stiles, Stiles, son, you need to calm down -“

“No, Dad, NO!” Stiles shouted, and the few cops still at the precinct that late at night looked over at Stiles in surprise. “Dad, tell me you’re just joking, that this is all some sick joke you’re playing because I-“

“I’m not joking,” his dad snapped, voice urgent. “Now I have every cop I can think of looking for him, I have Danny trying to triangulate his location, we’ll find him, Stiles, I swear-“

“I CAN’T LOSE HIM!” Stiles shouted, crying now as he stood up, hands shaking as he reached for his gun. “Dad, you don’t understand. Dad, I love him. I-I-I-“

“Okay, Stiles, okay,” his dad said calmly and Stiles ran his hand over his eyes, practically sobbing. “Stiles, he won’t die-“

“I promised I would protect him,” Stiles whispered, feeling like his heart was breaking, piece by agonizing piece. “No matter what.”

“Stiles-“

“Dad, I promised him. I told him the very first day, a year ago, that I would - and now he’s going to - I’m so in love with him I can barely breathe sometimes and I - I can’t lose him,” Stiles sobbed, sinking to his knees, knuckles white on his desk, ignoring his fellow cops asking if he was okay. No, he was not fucking okay.

“I promised him,” Stiles whispered, over and over again as his dad tried to calm him down.

_“I’ll try my hardest to protect you. With everything I’ve got. I promise.”_

_“I promise.”_

_“I’ll protect you.”_

_“No matter what.”_

_“I’ll try my hardest.”_

_“I promise.”_

_“...to protect you.”_

Derek was out there, dying, and Stiles hadn’t protected him. He’d gotten lazy, caught up in their romance, caught up in his feelings. He hadn’t protected the one person he’d promised to protect.

Derek was dead.

He was dead.

Dead-

“He’s not dead, Stiles,” his dad barked in his ear, bringing him out of his thoughts. Stiles let out a shaky breath, wiping away his tears, only more came in their place. They wouldn’t stop. “He’s not. Now, listen to me, son. I had no idea you felt this way about him, but I do now. And you can either sit there and wallow and do nothing to save the man you love, or you can get off your ass, be the badass detective I know you to be, and save the love of your life. Assuming that’s what he is?”

“Yes, yes,” Stiles nodded, even though his dad couldn’t see him. “He is.”

“Good, so stand up, pull it together, and lets go take down a murderer.”

~*~

It took 7 hours and 32 minutes for Stiles to find Derek. Peter’s men came at Stiles with all they had. Stiles was just better. He didn’t kill them. That was always a last resort and Stiles knocked them out easily. His father had paid for him to get more training then the rest of the police force, and it had paid off in that moment, and Stiles silently thanked his dad for dragging his whining ass to each session.

He sprinted to the room he knew Derek to be in and kicked at it once, twice, three times before he kicked the door down, wood splintering as he did so.

Peter stood over Derek, knife sliding down Derek’s cheek, and Stiles shouted for Peter to freeze and held his gun up to his head.

Peter turned to Stiles with a cold grin, knife tip moving to Derek’s jugular.

Stiles’ finger twitched on the trigger. 

Peter raised an eyebrow.

“So this is your little fucktoy, Derek? Hmm, gotta say, you could do better,” Peter murmured, not moving, knife still pointed to Derek’s neck.

Stiles saw that Derek’s face had been beaten to a pulp, that one arm and leg were broken, his shoulder dislocated in the other arm. His shirt was shredded, cuts showing all along his chest and stomach. He looked to be stabbed at least twice in one of his legs, three times in the other. Blood was dripping to the floor, drop after drop. Derek looked barely conscious, his breathing ragged, broken.

Stiles had to force himself not to shoot Peter where he stood.

“Little nephew fucking a cop. Never thought I’d see the day,” Peter sighed, shaking his head.

“Get away from him,” Stiles snapped, taking a step closer.

“Mm, no, I don’t think so,” Peter said, grinning that cold grin again.

“I will shoot you dead, I swear to god,” Stiles said, voice shaky.

“S-Sti-“ Derek tried, then coughed up blood, body wracking with it. Stiles’ stomach lurched.

“No, I don’t think you will shoot me, Stilinski,” Peter said, a wicked smile on his face. “Because you shoot me in the head and my hand might just…slip…across my nephew’s neck as I fall to the ground, severing several vital arteries in the process.”

Stiles ground his teeth together.

“I have enough to put you away for twenty lifetimes, Hale,” Stiles said. “You’re not getting out of here a free man.”

“Oh, but I think I am,” Peter said, moving, casual as ever, around Derek to stand at his back, grabbing his head and tipping his head back, knife poised to slice deep across his neck. “One move, and he’s dead. We all know you love this pathetic excuse for a nephew I have, so I know you don’t want that. I have all the power here, just as I was always meant to have it,” Peter sneered.

“Meant to?” Stiles said, edging forward.

“Yes,” Peter practically hissed, grip tightening on the knife. “Talia thought she was so amazing, so righteous all the time. The better sibling, the better one at everything, but I proved her wrong, didn’t I, nephew?” Peter looked down at Derek, maniacal glee on his face. “I proved just how weak she and that fucking husband of hers was when I burned them to a crisp, didn’t I? DIDN’T I?” Peter shouted and Stiles almost jumped, saw the rage on Peter’s face, the psychopath he truly was. Peter looked up at Stiles, then. “All I had to do was convince Kate Argent to do it. Didn’t take much. She’s an eager little bitch, in bed and out,” Peter smirked, and then looked down at Derek, face softening, voice sounding almost fond as he looked at Derek, stroked his cheek with his free hand, “isn’t that right, Derek? Don’t you agree?”

Stiles swallowed, inching forward one more step. Derek had told Stiles about Kate about a month ago, about how, since their families were so close, he’d thought she had a genuine interest in him, that she was someone he could trust because of their family connection. How in love he had thought he’d been. How she’d had Derek go to her apartment the night of the fire, how Derek had found a note waiting for him, telling Derek how lucky he was that she’d had enough fondness for him to let him live, but unfortunately, she had no such fondness for the rest of his family, who were in that moment dying in a fire. Derek had told Stiles everything, and Stiles had held Derek as he told him, as he cried, had stayed wrapped around him the whole night.

“Yes, he does agree,” Peter looked up and Derek groaned, more blood pouring out of his mouth. “With Talia out of the way, I became king,” Peter said. “I became the one in charge. I’m the one who got to say who lived and who died. I got to manage the drugs, the weapons, the killings. I got to have whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted. And they always wanted it. Wanted me. Because. I was. King. I had all the power. And I still have it, Stiles,” Peter said, looking down at Derek. “I’ll always have it. You can’t beat me. I’m going to kill my nephew today, and then I’m going to kill you. And I will walk out of this room a free man. You can’t stop me.”

“I would agree with you,” Stiles said, giving Peter his attention. The knife slipped sideways away from Derek’s neck in Peter’s distraction. “If you hadn’t chosen a room in the middle of New York City that had a window in it.”

“What-“ Peter started, but then it was over, a bullet lodged in Peter’s brain, knife clattering to the floor as his body slumped down to the ground, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. Stiles rushed over to the window, looking over to see his Dad on the top of the roof opposite this building, giving Stiles a nod before turning to the other police standing with him. His Dad had always been the best shooter, Stiles knew.

Stiles holstered his gun and turned to Derek, rushing to his side.

“Derek, Derek, baby come on, stay awake,” Stiles said, gently holding his head in his hands. Derek’s swollen, purple eyes opened as much as they could, staring at Stiles.

“S-Stil-Stiles,” Derek coughed, and Stiles laughed shakily, tears spilling.

“Yes, I found you. You’re safe, I’ve got you,” Stiles whispered, voice shaky, moving to untie Derek’s hands and feet.

“You’re here,” Derek gurgled, head lolling this way and that. 

“Yes, yes. I told you I would protect you, didn’t I?” Stiles said.

“Ye-yeah,” Derek tried to nod, but only moved a fraction.

“Granted I’m a little late in saving your life, but-“

Derek coughed, a smile trying to stretch it’s way across his face, which told Stiles that Derek had been trying to laugh.

“Bet-better l-late than never,” Derek choked out and Stiles felt tears slip down his face as he pressed his forehead gently, oh so gently against Derek’s.

“I love you,” Stiles whispered, holding Derek’s head up, hands as gentle as he could make them.

“Y-you t-lov-love you t-too,” Derek managed to get out, and Stiles gave Derek the lightest, barely there kisses over Derek’s cracked, bloody lips.

“You’re free, it’s over. You can start over now,” Stiles whispered again.

“Want to s-st-start it wi-with you,” Derek choked out, and Stiles smiled through tears as he heard the medics rushing up to the room.

“Me too, Der, me too.”

“Good,” Derek got out, just as the medics came into the room, asked Stiles to stand back.

Stiles got into the ambulance with Derek and held his hand all the way to the hospital, never letting go.

When Derek woke up days later in a hospital bed, Stiles smiled, Derek’s hand in his and said, “It’s time to start our lives over, Derek.”

And they did, together.


End file.
